


Escaflowne Week - Day 3 - Perspective

by Dark Stars (ivorybyrd)



Series: Escaflowne Prompts [6]
Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear of Death, Fear of Discovery, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorybyrd/pseuds/Dark%20Stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dilandau has returned from the battlefield after all his men have died, and tries to return to a bit of normalcy despite incoming change to his life. The sounds have all gone, and the coming loneliness isn't the scariest part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escaflowne Week - Day 3 - Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> This was from back in January when we did the Escaflowne Week! I hope we can do it again soon and definitely looking forward to more projects with the fandom. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this short fic-let as much as I do.

Dilandau remained in his melef for three hours after his return to the floating fortress. He didn’t want to remove his body from the protective inner core of the alseides. He was safe there, he’d not be killed by that monster, the Escaflowne.

He broke out of his death-like trance only for a moment to hit the ejection button. He stumbled out and caught the railing to stop his collapse. He steadied his weak knees and headed down the corridor. He needed to shower, and then eat. He was so hungry, and tired. His mind only awake enough to keep him moving. He didn’t walk like his champion-like self, but kept his shoulders low, dragging his feet and head along.

What was this feeling? Was it going to go away soon?

He showered, the hot water burning at his tired skin. He ignored the silence, and how empty the other showers were. He listed in his mind the things he had to do, the next steps he had to take. Get out, get dressed, eat, sleep, wake up, and fight. Keep fighting, always fighting. 

He sat instead and stared off for several moments, his eyes planted on the floor. He didn’t want to look around, the sound of silence was so loud and so hard to ignore. He stood, left the stall and dried off. Wrapping the towel around his waist he headed back to his room.

He counted each step to his locked room, eyes closed while passing by eight doors, four on each side that lead to one at the end of the hall. Each had a plaque on the side just above the door trigger and lock. First and last initials, separated by dots with a number to the side. One door, the closest to his at the end of the hall had one set of letters. He closed his eyes so tightly his head began to pound. When he arrived at his door, he finally opened them. It took several attempts to hit the key code, the numbers seemed to jumble in his dizzy eyes. He pressed his head to the wall above the panel and hit the key code another two times, and finally the door opened. He locked the door after him, and leaned against the cool metal.

He laid on his bed for another hour, watching the sun’s light across his room. He was cold, but had no aspiration to cover up. He was hungry but no motivation to go eat.

The Vione was now too quiet. He wished he’d never quieted them, he wished he’d let them speak more, he wished they’d start laughing, and not stop. He wished they’d bicker and argue over pointless things. Trivial shit that irritated him was the same thing he wanted more than anything now.

The only sounds came from the generator, and the air system. The occasional rush of water through the pipes or steam from a valve would vibrate against his walls. There were no muffles of voices, there were no boots hitting the metal floor outside his door.

He sat up finally, combing his fingers through his hair, dropping broken strands off the side of the bed. He combed his nails through until his scalp hurt. The pain hit that switch in his mind again and he was able to get back up, move to his closet and pull on his second uniform. He was sluggish, but his uniform had to be perfect, he brushed through his damp hair and replaced his diadem, part of him felt sickly looking into his reflection. It was so distorted now. At first, when his face was marred by that monster, he was still him. Now, he was nearly unrecognizable to himself. His face was unfamiliar, his eyes not the right color. He didnt know who this person was, or what it was. Why was it someone else’s face when he wanted his own.

He pushed himself from his mirror, and sat to pull on his boots, and realized he forgot his boot socks. He ignored it, and hit the lock on his door.

He sat in his meeting room for a few minutes, staring into the empty space where they would relax or gather. He had leaned back in the throne like seat and slumped low, chin pressed against his throat as his brain began to process more and more of what was going on. He couldn’t think of what would happen now, as much as he wanted deep down to get back to fighting. He stood up and stepped across the empty floor and found the vase full of roses that he had requested days ago from Pallas. Pallas had some of the best flowers and they had been something that he always wanted to see in real life. Something beautiful, and yet also just as deadly. With their thorns and blood red petals, he was enamored with their beauty for years. Flowers had a special place in his heart.

He grabbed the vase and slammed it to the floor, cutting through the noiseless room. He smashed the flower under his boot, crushing the buds under his heel and grinding them into the metal. He enjoyed the way the glass snapped under his boot, the sound of it scraping the floor destroyed the silence.

One had escaped his sudden wrath, and he lifted his foot to end it’s beauty but stopped. He picked it up and left the room.

“You’re all incompetent.” His heart began to race, he stared at the ground below him just under the only alseides docked in the hanger. His blood boiled from an anger he’d never felt before. It was rage, frightening and at the same time frustrating. It wasn’t rage that pushed him to destroy, it was a rage that made him want to rip at eternity. To bring them back to him.

“Guimel… Dalet… Chesta, Viole.” He felt a wave of nausea at his own words, “Where’s the glory in dying in a fight like that.” He pushed it all away, and twisted the rose between his fingers. The petals had already started to die, and it had looked so vibrant that morning. He tossed over his shoulder, carelessly, if he could act like it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t right?

He stood there for a moment, frozen in his thoughts.

“Don’t leave me alone!”

He jumped when he felt his lips move, and a wave of sickness hit his stomach.

‘Oh right, this isnt the first time I’ve been alone.’ he reminded himself.

The memory, something of someone that couldn’t be him, crying alone in the light of a setting sun. “Don’t leave me alone!”

The nausea came back, and it stole the strength in his legs. He grasped the railing and watched the ground swirl around him like he had taken a dive off the edge. He panted hard, and felt his mouth began to drown in saliva as another wave hit him. ‘Am I ill?’ he asked himself.

‘No, you’re alone,’ he heard.

“A-alone?” he called out and put his hand over his mouth and coughed, he swallowed the bile in his throat and sobbed into his gloved hand. He fell to his side and stared between the bars, curled up and alone. None of them were coming back, they would not eat meals with him, nor would they look upon him with pride, or with loyalty. They would not return to their families, or back to their home with their earned honor.

He cried for them, and he cried for himself.

When he woke, he was still on the bridge, it was cold and dark again. He stood up. “Chesta?” he called out. “They must have already retired,” he whispered and headed to his room.

He stared at the ceiling again, he kept getting flashes, hearing the sobbing in the back of his mind and the word “alone” burning a hole in his brain. The word seemed weird, strange on his lips after the thirtieth time he uttered it in a whisper. It burned at his throat. Through the night he heard a few sounds outside his room. He told his men to go away, he was too tired to dispel another argument or hear what Folken had to say. He slept fitfully, sometimes he’d wake up and it was daytime, and Chesta was at his bedside, trying to wake him. Other times he’d wake up and be back, battling that monster in human skin.

“Lord Dilandau, please report to the main control bay, prepare for departure.”

He woke up again to this, and heard it repeated three times before he hit the com to respond that he was on his way. He ignored his coat, and left his room with disdain over his features. His head was spinning, more so than when he’d drank himself to sleep most nights. He stopped when Mi…

He groaned and pushed back that bit of nausea again. He shook his head. No, that wasn’t true, and everything was ok.

Why was he getting so sick? Maybe Folken saw it and sent for a healer. But that didn’t feel right, something felt like everything was about to go wrong.

He went up the narrow steps leading up to the control bay.

Departure.

He looked up, his heart sank.

‘Dont go!’ he heard his voice scream inside his head.

“Why hello, Dilandau.” Their shadowed faces, their long black cloaks, their maniacal grins.

The attractive one stepped out. “You’ll have to come with us for a while Dilandau.” He had come closer and held out his hand, his soft voice welcoming. Dilandau hated him the most, his face was nothing but deception

Dilandau’s eyes darted between the four sorcerers, then to Folken, who had started to take steps towards him. He turned his head turned and behind him two of Folken’s soldiers had trapped him on the stairs.

A hand grabbed his, the icy feeling of skin made him recoil. He wished death on the violet eyes of the attractive sorcerer.

Dilandau turned and got on the defense, he knew how to get out of enemy hands if necessary. He could use those skills to get away from his allies.

“Set all main doors to manual lock!” Folken yelled out. 

“Sir!”

He wouldn’t go back, he wouldn’t let them touch him. Everything was fine, everything was ok. His men would protect him again. He slammed his shoulder into one of Folken’s guards and toppled onto him. He smashed his fist into the man’s face and felt his torso grabbed. Swinging his elbow backwards he hit the other’s nose, crushing it into is skull. He got up and stumbled a bit as he began to run. He reached down for a sword that wasn’t there and cursed. He had to get away, he had to find a sword, he had to get to his guymelef, he had to get away. He could hide, he could fly to Zaibach and kill Dornkirk and take over. He could do all of this, he just had to focus. He had to get his men mustered. They would die to get him to safety.

He saw a blue-black suit turn the corner. In his mind he could hear someone’s voice call out. ‘This way.’

When he got to their floor, he opened up each of their doors. Each time they opened his expectations were dashed when the rooms remained empty, their beds made and floors cleaned. They were void of life, and after a while his anxiety grew. “Where are you idiots!?” he yelled out.

“He’s up here! Detain and leave unharmed!”

‘They’re coming, Lord Dilandau.’

Dilandau took a deep breath, he turned his head to look for a place to hide, Guimel would know all the great spots, though he never paid him any attention. He went to his room and tried the locks, but the panel flashed red, and he was rejected entry. He didn’t have a weapon. 

‘In here.’

Dilandau heard the footsteps coming and rushed into the closest open room.

One bed had been messy, the other neat. Part of him cursed them, of all the people who would ignore their mandatory room standards would be Gatti. Chesta on the other hand was more capable of keeping up a soldier’s appearance.

The footsteps grew louder, the sound of boots on metal didn’t bring him peace as it had before.

He got down on the floor and hid under the bottom bed, pushing himself further towards the wall. He covered his mouth, holding back the need to scream from fear. That nausea came back, but it was only to be ignored. Fear, and pain, and the feeling of loneliness consumed him. He shook violently, tucking his body as much as he could. If he could get to the hanger he was free to go as he wished.

Each of the rooms had been reopened and turned over. He heard things being ripped apart, torn down and tossed to the floor.

‘Stop touching their things!’ he screamed in his mind. ‘Don’t you dare touch them!’ He just wanted to kill them all. He wanted to kill Folken, kill Dornkirk, kill the sorcerers. He gasped when they entered Chesta and Gatti’s room, and began to pull everything from the closet, tossing things aside unnecessarily. There was no need to deface their things. 

He watched as one of the cloaked sorcerers slipped into the room. “Dilandau, come out now, you’re not feeling well correct?” it had been the one who touched him. “Come now, we’ll get you new soldiers, you wont have to miss these ones for much longer.”

He whimpered, keeping his mouth covered, he plugged his nose and tried to still his breathing. His heart was beating too quickly and too hard to keep from breathing for very long. He tried hard to hold back sobbing out. ‘I dont want wan’t new soldiers. I have my men.’

A hand grasped around his ankle, and dragged him out violently. He yelled, and grabbed what he could to get away from them. He kicked and screamed out again. “Chesta! Gatti!” He was dragged out and pushed to the ground.

“They’re gone Dilandau,” The smooth voice of the sorcerer chastised him, “Now be a good child and come with us nicely,” the smooth tone became darker, as he stepped up to Dilandau’s face.

Dilandau groaned and stared wildly at the man who finally knelt down.

“Its time to relax a little.”

His hair was grabbed, and pulled to keep his head still. He screamed again and felt the tip of something sharp press into his nape, past the muscle. He seized some, and finally relaxed in a mild stupor.

When he woke he was paralyzed, unable to move his arms or legs. With some time he got his fingers and toes to wiggle. He pulled at his limbs, and found that they weren’t paralyzed, but bound to a table. He was cold, uncomfortable, hungry and alone. “Help me… please… Ryoun, Chesta.” He whispered, wishing at least one of them would come save him.

“He’s not fully registering the events that took place, his psyche has been damaged. I’m afraid he’s starting to reject our fate alteration experiment,” he heard.

Dilandau’s head turned to the side, eyes widening as he screamed and tried to get away, he pulled at the bindings and felt the skin start to burn from friction. “Stop!”

“He’s become more unstable.” The slick, sharp voiced of one of the sorcerers hit his ears, making his skin crawl more.

He screamed again.

“What’s the cause?” Another asked.

“The fate alteration experiment wasn’t completely successful then.” The other replied. “We need to keep this from Lord Folken.”

“Very well.”

Dilandau thrashed and screamed, pulling more. His muscles were sore, his hips and knees ached from pulling against his bindings.

They were gone, they weren’t coming to help him.

“Chesta!” he screamed desperately, looking to the open door, waiting for help. “Gatti! Dalet!” He whimpered. “Where are you!?!”

“He’ll be in danger if this keeps up.” The deeper voiced sorcerer groaned.

“Put him to sleep,” the snake of the group spoke again, getting closer and ignoring the soldier’s cries. “When we return to the homeland, we’ll perform another fate alteration.”

“NO!” in his desperation Dilandau violently ripped at the bindings, screaming, “Please! No. S-someone… save me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this! This is actually a part from my series fic, but will be changed a little when I do get around to publishing it. 
> 
> Like always, I definitely appreciate any feedback or commentary. Thanks again for reading!


End file.
